Running on Empty
by No.Life.In.The.Void
Summary: It's been years since the brothers have dealt with the hardest demon Sam has ever had to face, himself. Contains a character with an eating disorder. Please don't read if you're triggered easily.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note: This was written for a prompt I received on my tumblr. Constructive criticism is welcome. I don't have a beta reader so please try to bear with me. **

Dean realized it was bad again the day Sam collapsed in the middle of a hunt. One minute he and Sam were questioning the newest victim's wife and the next his baby brother was laying on the ground.

Dean stood there for a moment in shock before shouting Sam's name and dropping to his knees in front of him. The kid was conscious but looked disoriented, he was shaking like a leaf as he struggled to sit up. "Take it easy Sammy" Dean cautioned, helping his brother to his feet. He looked at Mrs. Tate and quickly muttered "We'll be in touch" and half dragged half carried his dazed little brother to the Impala.

"Mind telling me what the HELL that was?" Dean questioned the moment they started driving. He gripped the steering wheel tight, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. He had a vivid memory of how things used to be and just hoped he was wrong. He didn't know if he could handle that again.

Sam just frowned. "I don't know, just got a bit light headed. I'm probably dehydrated or something." He gave Dean a reassuring smile "Don't worry."

"You collapsed Sammy, I'm going to fucking worry." Dean retorted, reaching into the back seat and grabbing a water bottle. He shoved it forcefully into his brothers lap. "Drink the entire thing."

"Ok, _mom_" Sam answered back in what was supposed to be a joking tone, Dean didn't laugh. Sam was clearly struggling to take the cap off of the stupid bottle. His hands were shaking which made it damn near impossible to twist the thing off. Dean took notice, but said nothing. He also noticed the way his little brothers collar bones were visible through his shirt. When did Sammy become so fucking slender? Better question, when was the last time the kid ate something?

Dean came close to saying something but thought better of it. He knew when to pick his battles and sitting in the car with his sick brother was not the time to start this one. He would wait until they got back to their motel room.

As a result of Dean's decision the ride back was silent. He didn't think he could make small talk without it turning into an argument.

Dean turned off the radio less than five minutes into the drive, he knew Sam didn't like the music he played and didn't want to make the kid feel worse. This entire situation reminded him too much of Sam's teenage years.

Dean began to internally beat himself up. How could be so blind? How could he have forgotten all the nights he used to beg Sammy to take care of himself? To eat. To sleep. To just fucking function. How could he have looked over the fact that Sam hadn't been eating? Was he so caught up in the fact that he finally had Sam back, that he overlooked something this fucking crucial? Dean wanted to throw up. He thought his little brother got over this years ago.

Dean pulled into the parking lot and got out. How was he going to deal with this? It was hard enough when they were kids, when Sam still looked up to his older brother. But now? They were practically strangers. How was he supposed to take care of the problem this time? Sam stumbled out of the Impala and Dean pretended not to notice. Tried to give his brother a little bit of dignity. They walked in room number twelve and Sam immediately flung himself onto the bed. Dean sighed. "Sammy, I'm going to grab some food at the diner for dinner. What do you want?"

"Dean, I'm not really all that hungry. Just bring back some coffee or something?" Sam asked hopefully, shoving his face into the pillow.

"We didn't have breakfast or lunch kiddo, and you collapsed earlier. You're eating something." Dean replied in a tone that was rarely heard from the hunter. It was firm, absolute but it was also very kind. Positively dripping with worry. It was a tone that was reserved only for Sammy.

"I'm not a kid, Dean." Sam replied, rolling over to his side.

Dean smirked; glad the nickname provoked a reaction out of his brother. "Just pick something so that I can go, I'm friggin starving"

"I don't care De, just whatever the soup of the day is" Sam responded in a tired, defeated voice that made Dean cringe.

"Alright Sam, you got it." The older Winchester frowned. Sam's reluctance to eat just confirmed his suspicions.

It took Dean less than fifteen minutes to go to the diner and order a double bacon cheeseburger for himself and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Sam. Dean pulled into the motel parking lot for the third time that day and rested his head on the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Look, I'm probably stupid for doing this." He whispered "If you do exist you've never answered a single prayer ….not one. But I need Sammy to be ok. Please don't make him go through this again. He's suffered enough and I don't know if he…..Look, I'm begging you; just…help me this one time. Please" and with that, he took his takeout bag from the passenger seat and entered the motel.

It took Dean less than 45 seconds to realize his prayers hadn't been answered. He was greeted by a horrible retching noise followed by a sob. Dean set the bag down on the counter and winced. Sam was on his knees in the tiny bathroom, dry heaving. He went over to his little brother and rubbed gentle circles into his back. He took note that he could feel every notch of the kids spine, that Sam's shoulder blades protruded much more than they should. That his arms were nothing but skin and bone.

Dean knew from experience that when Sams stomach got too empty, he would throw up a bit of stomach acid. It was like his body protesting against the abuse. It was painful and it used to leave the kid too lightheaded to move for a while. So Dean just sat there, hoping his presence would be enough.

"Dean, you don't have to sit here" Sam panted. "Go eat your dinner"

"Not happening bitch" Dean answered right before another round of heaving began. Dean held back Sam's too long hair and waited for it to pass.

"It….hurts De" Sam sobbed, and pressed his face into his brothers chest. Dean didn't hesitate before wrapping his arms around the thin man. It was a testament to how much pain Sam was in when he didn't even reply with the usual "jerk". That alone damn near broke Deans heart.

"I know Sammy, but it's gonna be ok. You hear me? I'm going to make this ok, I swear."

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry" Sam cried, tightening his grip on his older brother.

"Hey, look at me" Dean said, grabbing the his brothers shoulders. Sam reluctantly made eye contact with Dean. "You don't need to be sorry. This isn't your fault. You're sick. But you know what? I'm going to make it better. I promise."

Sam nodded, clinging on to his brothers words for dear life.

"You think you can get up?" Dean asked and Sam nodded again. With Deans help, Sam was on his feet and sitting at the small dining room table.

Dean grabbed the bowl of soup and popped it into the microwave to heat it up. There was a look of fear on Sams face when Dean finally placed the warm bowl in front of him.

"Eat it Sammy. It's gonna suck for a while, but you have to eat."

Sam reluctantly nodded and grabbed the spoon, playing with his food for a good ten minutes before Dean decided to intervene.

"C'mon Sammy, please. You don't have to finish the whole thing. Just a few bites." He begged. Sam closed his eyes and lifted a spoonful up to his mouth.

Dean knew it would be hard. That it was going to be worse this time around then it was before. But he also knew that they could beat this. Together they could do it. They had to.

**Might turn this into my first chapter fic starting with Sam's pre-cannon struggles. Would anyone be interested in reading that?**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you to everyone who left encouraging reviews. I've decided I'm going to try to post at least once a week. (hopefully every Thursday) until the fic is done. Constructive criticism is very very appreciated and welcome :D**

If you asked Dean Winchester to pinpoint the exact moment when his baby brother decided to stop eating**,** he wouldn't have an answer for you. Sure, he had histheories; most of them revolving around Dean being an awful big brother, but Sam hadhonestly seemed like a happy kid. It was almost too late by the time anyone noticed things were bad at all.

To make himself feel better, Dean haddecided that it was the kids that picked on him that started all of this. It was the only thing that really made sense in Dean's mind - not that any of it really made sense at all. Sure, Sam was a chubby kid, there was no question about that. Bigger than Dean had been at twelve. But there was reason for that**.** Dean would sacrifice many of his meals so thatSammy could have something to eat. John would just disappear for weeks at a time, never giving Dean enough money to feed the both of them.

Kids were cruel and made fun of him for it until he hit his growth spurt and all of that childish chubbiness morphed him into a lanky fifteen year old giant.

Around that time, in the spring of '97, Sam started making comments that hinted toward his...eating issue. Dean would never call it for what it reallywas. His baby brother didn't have some chick problem, this was something else. This was different. Sam was different. Winchesters didn't have the luxury of having regular problems**,** Medical issues weren't allowed in their business.

But if Dean had to guess, the real start of it was a little after his fifteenth birthday.

Sam Winchester was fifteen years old when he realized that he needed to lose weight.

He wasn't stupid; he knew that he wasn't fat. But he wasn't Dean either. Actually, he and Dean were nothing alike**, **as their father reminded Sam on a regular basis. Dean was a better hunter; he was stronger, tougher,more physically fit. And Sam? He was a bookish kid. Dean occasionally teased his little brother for doing so well in school and being more interested in his studies than girls.

The idea to lose some weight came to him when he and Dean were allowed to go on their first solo hunt together. Their father had decided that Sammy was old enough to go with his big brother and do a real simple salt and burn. But of course, it's never a simple salt and burn for the Winchesters, and the boys had to chase the damn thing through the vents.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled when he realized what they had to do. He knew about his little brothers claustrophobia; and more often than not, he would help Sam avoid situations like this. But Dean needed backup.

"Sammy, we've gotta chase this bitch down. Can you do that?"

Sam just laughed nervously. All of the excitement he felt earlier wasgone. "Yeah**,** Dean. I'm fine."

"I'll go first, there's going to be a fork and we'll split up. I'll go to the left and you go to the right. If you see something, shoot it," Dean said seriously as he moved the vent cover out of the way.

The spirit, whose name was Annabelle Smith**,** had taken her victims into the ventilation system of a shitty motel that was quite similar to those that the Winchesters took upresidence in on a daily basis. After a bit of research, Sam learned that Annabelle had been murdered by her fiancé after he found her with another man. He shoved her body into the laundry chute and she wasn't found for almost two years. Shortly after the discovery of her body, their home was destroyed in a fire**.** The land was bought up and thenew owner built the Super 8 Motel on it. Ever since then, people have been disappearing.

Sam took out his handgun and went through the small opening after Dean. It was a tight fit, but Sam had been in smaller spaces before.

"You okay Sammy?" Dean called back after a few minutes. He was worried about the kid.

"I'm fine Dean." Sam answered with a grunt, pulling himself forward. It was slow going, but after a few minutes they came to the split.

Dean went to the left and after some difficult maneuvering was able to shift his body into the space around the sharp curve of the system. Sam looked on skeptically.

"Dean, I don't think I can do that!" He shouted after his brother.

"You're fine**,** Sammy**,**" Dean yelled back, slightly annoyed. "Just get going so that we can get out of here already, I fucking hate this job."

"It's Sam…." He mumbled to himself, sighing as his brother disappeared. Now it was his turn, and he slid his gun to the right and shifted his torso, trying to wiggle around the curve. He felt the corner of the vent press painfully against his chest, but he kept going, shifting his body until he was almost halfway in. But he couldn't move any further. No matter how he shifted and pushed, he just couldn't force his body forward.

"GOD DAMN IT**,**" He shouted in frustration, slamming his hand against the metal frame. He tried to push backwards and suddenly realized with horror that he couldn't go back the way he came. He was stuck.

What a stupid, ridiculous situation to get himself into. He was mortified. Dean would never want to take him on a hunt again. And dad…..he would be so disappointed. Suddenly, the airseemed to thin and he felt hot. So hot he couldn't stand it. He couldn't move. He was going to be trapped forever. What if Dean didn't come back? What if Dean was hurt somewhere? No one would ever know that Sam was in here.

If Sam could have thought rationally, he would have realized he was having a panic attack. That if he were to relax, he probably could manipulate his body and get out one way or another. Or, if that didn't work, Dean would find him and get him out with minimal teasing. His brother had never let him down before.

But Sam wasn't thinking rationally. He violently jerked forward, only managing to stab his stomach with the corner of the vent. He started to cry, unable to stop himself. He was going to die here. Dean knew that Sam hated small spaces, why would he take him in here? To humiliate him? Did Dean know that Sam wouldn't fit? He must have. Maybe his brother was trying to prove a point.

Sam stayed in that position for almost an hour, painfully trying to move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. All he could do was cry.

"Sammy!" A panicked voice shouted. "Sammy, answer me damn it!"

Sam lifted his head up, recognizing his brothers voice but was unable to respond. He couldn't talk. He couldn't catch his breath long enough to make a sound.

"Sam, this isn't funny. When I find you, I'm going to kill you." Dean yelled, his voice sounding closer, and if possible, more worried.

Sam collected himself enough to yell for his brother. "Dean!" he screamed, picking up where he left off, trying to force his body back where he came from. "Dean! Please!**!**"

"I'm coming Sammy!**!**" Dean yelled back, praying that his brother was ok. He hadn't heard his kid brother sound that scared in years. That out of control…Dean moved as fast as he could, given the circumstances**,** and then he saw him. He saw his brothers back curved around the two openings in front of him.

"Sammy, I'm right here**,**" Dean said softly, touching the curve of his little brothers spine. "What hurts?"

Dean was suddenly terrified. Why hadn't his brother made it any further? Had the Annabelle done something to him before he had the chance to light the very last bit ofthe bitch up?

"Dean**.**" Panted Sammy. "Please**,** help me**.**"

"I'm going to kiddo, but until you tell me what's wrong there's not much I can do."

"Suck."

"You're stuck?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Can't move De. Please" The fifteen year old boy sounded somuch like a five year old version of Sam, that it broke Deans heart.

"You have to calm down, ok? I'm going to get you out of here, but the more tense you are, the harder it's going to be. You know your body, you've gotten out of worse situations than this. It's just your claustrophobia that's making this so much harder."

Sam focused on Deans voice like it was a lifeline. Tears and sweat poured down his face.

"Can't breathe**.**"

"Yes you can Sammy, just close your eyes. Trust me. Don't you trust me?"

Sam closed his eyes and took a shuddering, uneven breath as Dean rubbed his back.

"I'm sorry I had to take you in here Sammy. But now you have to be strong for me ok? You need to let me help you."

Sams breathing slowly evened out. "Dean, I've been trying to get out. I can't move."

"Yes you can kiddo, just slowly back up. Take your time. I'm right here."

Sam frowned and took a deep breath.

"That's it Sammy, now just inch back." And he did. It took almost ten minutes of maneuvering but he was able to get himself into a position where he could back up and begin the long journey back to the motel room. It was much harder this time around because Sam had to crawl out backwards.

When both boys were safely out, Dean lead his little brother to the bed, forcing him to sit down.

"You ok buddy?" He asked trying to get a read on his brothers emotions.

Sam just shook his head.

"Are you hurt?"

"M'fine**,**" Sam mumbled, looking down. His breathing getting labored the way it always did before he started to cry.

"Ya don't sound fine, kiddo**.**" Dean answered, getting up to get Sam a glass of water.

When Dean came back he offered Sam the glass.

"I'm not a kid**!**" Sam spat, knocking the glass out of Deans hand.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Shouted a now soaking wet**,** and slightly pissed off**,** Dean.

"Why can't I do anything right? I can't even do a damn job right without screwing it up. Everything comes easy to you. You did the entire thing by yourself while I was crying like a big**,** fat**,** baby" Sam cried, putting his face in his hands. "Of all the stupid things to be afraid of, I'm scared of small spaces? What kind of a loser can't even sit in a car without the windows cracked?"

Dean sat down next to Sam. "Look at me," He said, waiting until Sam lifted his head and focused those big brown eyes on him. "You're not a loser. Everyone's scared of something. I'll tell you what, you drink a glass of water, and stop berating yourself and I'll tell dad that you were the one who found Abigail's remains. No one will find out about this. It's between you and me, ok?"

Sams eyes grew wide. "You'd do that?"

"Of course Sammy. What are big brothers for?" Dean smiled; glad that he could he could do something to make the kid feel better.

Sam got up from the bed and got himself a glass of water**,** and Dean went out to start the Impala up and to give his brother some alone time.

This had been a problem that Dean was very aware of. Sams absolute terror at being in an enclosed space. Which was why his heart had dropped when he realized that this case included being inside a damn vent. He considered telling Sam to stay in the motel room, but knew that would only make the kids already dwindling self-esteem plummet**.** And anyway, Dean thought he might need backup. So he chose the lesser of two evils. Besides, how could he have possibly known that Sam would get stuck?

Dean put his head in his hands. He felt beyond guilty. This was his fault. Sam was in there for more than an hour before Dean had found him. He should have moved faster. Should have found him quicker.

All the while Sam was leaning against the counter. Why could Dean do everything he couldn't? Why did girls like Dean better? Why was Dean so much thinner? So much better at hunting….why did Dad like Dean better? It wasn't fair. Sam walked out of the motel slowly, bowing his head.

Dean immediately cracked the windows when Sam got in. Instead of comforting Sam however, it managed to make him feel worse.

The drive back was uneventful. Neither of the boys said a word to each other the entire way**, **and when they got to the Lazy T motel that their father was checked in at, Sam went straight to bed.

Dean stayed up to tell their dad the story of how Sam found and burned the remains of the spirit and saved them both. Sam never got to see the look of pride on their fathers face. Which was probably for the best.

John Winchester made soup for dinner and Dean took Sams bowl into their room.

"Hey**,** Sleeping Beauty." Dean said softly, touching his shoulder. "Wake up**.**"

Sam moaned and rolled over. "What's wrong?"

"Brought you dinner. It's been about 12 hours since breakfast. I figured you'd be starving."

"No." Sam said quietly.

"No what?" Dean asked, confused.

"Not hungry." Sam replied

"You sure Sammy? It's good. The expensive stuff."

"Please De, I'm not hungry." Sam answered, using the nickname that only crossed his lips when he was hurt or sick.

"Alright Sam, but if you wake up and you're hungry…let me know. I'll heat it up for you**.**" Dean answered, touching his brothers forehead.

Sam batted his hand away. "I'm fifteen, not five**,**" He complained.

Dean laughed "Goodnight**,** bitch**.**"

"'Night**,** Jerk**.**"


End file.
